


On My Knees

by startwithsparks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Breathplay, F/M, Outdoor Sex, Polyfidelity, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a game they play, and they're the only ones who know the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On My Knees

The sun cast shadows through rustling leaves on the bed of fresh green grass that had sprung up through the godswood. Winter had finally broke and the warmth of spring was upon them. Their wolves had shed their thick winter undercoats and were lounging in the shadows of the great, ancient oaks while the three youngest Starks dipped their toes in cool pool beneath the weirwood: Bran with his books, Rickon with his fletching, and Arya with her sword laid gently over her lap and a whetstone in her hand. Now and then they would cast a long glance up at one another, communicating their thoughts or desires without speaking. Bran could simply slip a whispered word into their minds whenever he wanted, the once-invasive press now as pleasant as the spring breeze against their skin.

But a sharpened blade and a quiver of new arrows were good enough for an afternoon of work, and while Bran would never run out of words, he would run out of sunlight before he could ever satisfy his hunger to know everything he could about the world. Arya slid her sword back into its sheath and laid it aside in the grass, resting back on her hands. The sun streaked across her shoulders and arms and caught in the soft, dark curls of her hair. It wasn't long before Rickon laid his arrows aside as well and glanced up at her, canting his head in a silent question. Bran looked up a moment later, a smile curling the corner of his mouth as he watched his siblings silently stare each other down.

It was a game they played often enough - who would give in first and go to the other, whether one would set out on a chase, or if they would slowly gravitate towards one another. Bran enjoyed seeing them together, and they always gave him a performance worth watching.

Rickon was still more feral than their sister; a long winter spent in Skagos had made him hard and silent, had brought forth the animal in him. But Arya was all careful, practiced elegance. They never spoke about her training in Braavos, what she'd done before the gods brought her home, but Bran could make a few smart guesses and probably be right about most of them. There was a way she moved and lifted her gaze under thick, dark lashes that spoke volumes about tricks she'd yet to show off. Bran was weak to those looks, but Rickon always responded with a vicious grin, smiling at her like he wanted to tear her flesh from her bones. And that's when the game began.

For a long while, neither of them moved. They stared at each other across the water, each one daring the other to flinch first. Slowly Arya pushed off her hands and rolled onto her hip to tuck her legs to the side. Rickon shifted as well, drawing his knees up and rocking forward onto the pads of his feet. Each one of them sat poised, ready to take off after the other into the thick forest of the godswood. Rickon steadily unwound, the tension in his limbs coiling tighter as he straightened himself to stand. Arya rolled forward onto her knees, watching him intently to see if he was going to take off on a run, but he stood there, waiting to see what she would do. She turned and rest her hands on the ground in front of her, fingers curling in lush grass, and started to slowly crawl forward.

Bran quirked an eyebrow as he watched, but he'd long since learned that no one could predict what their sister might do. It was no short distance around the edge of the water, but Arya crawled the entire way on hands and knees, her shoulders rolling gracefully, spine relaxed, as she made her way towards Rickon. He watched her carefully, gaze puzzled and fascinated all at once, but stayed on his feet until she'd rounded the curve of the pool and started towards him. Only then did he start to lower himself, drawing down into a tight crouch, like an animal ready to pounce. He stared at her, the muscles flexing in her shoulders and arms, fingers falling elegantly to the ground with each stride forward.

When she finally reached him, she lifted her head, lips parted in a silent request. Rickon lingered, still smirking, just at the edge of her mouth. She wet her lips, the tip of her tongue ghosting across his mouth, and that was all it took to make him surge forward.

He took her face in both his hands, holding her firmly in place as he kissed her, as though he was trying to devour her. She gasped into his mouth and pressed back, knocking him off his feet and onto the grass. But he pulled her forward, down on top of him, and rolled her over in the grass and onto her back. Arya's fingers tangled in his rust-colored hair, tugging and sliding sharp nails across his scalp. He arched into her, getting his knees under him so he could pull his hands up from where they'd landed on the ground.

The sound of her shirt ripping was loud enough for Bran to hear under the weirwood, and he didn't bother trying to hide his grin. Frayed cloth and torn laces hung loose, making a smooth path down her chest and stomach for Rickon to lave his lips and tongue and teeth across. Arya arched under him, her head lulling to the side to watch Bran, his gaze focused intently on both of them, book closed in the grass next to him. She was about to turn her head when Rickon drew up and sunk his teeth into the flesh of her neck, causing her to breathe a harsh moan and twist her fingers violently in his hair. He grinned against her abused skin, nuzzling at the mark.

"Over?" he muttered into her ear, more a question than a request, but Arya gently smoothed down his hair and nodded, shoving him roughly off her chest.

He sat back on his heels while she rolled onto her stomach, then pushed up to her knees again. She shed the tattered shirt in a heap on the ground next to them, glancing over her shoulders as Rickon struggled his shirt off over his head and worked at the laces on his pants. By the time she had her own pants shoved down around her thighs, he was pressed against her back, arms wound tight around her waist. He nuzzled against her warm hair, inhaling the scent of grass and sweat from her skin, and dragged his teeth across the gentle slope of her neck. Arya groaned softly and reached back, holding him in place with a hand in his hair and the other on the back of his bare thigh. He rubbed slowly against her, nestled in the soft cleft of her ass.

All too aware that Bran was still staring intently at them, Arya rolled her hips back against his, hearing him groan softly against the back of her neck and press forward. There wasn't so much as a breath of space between them, not even when Rickon slowly drew his hips back eased himself forward into the space between her thighs. Arya rubbed back against him, trying to coax him inside her, but he grabbed her and held her still. He wasn't the patient type, and he knew well enough how much she liked to tease him, but somewhere between their first glance at each other and this moment she'd given him permission to take over. One hand slid up from her waist, grasping her breast briefly before his fingers curled around her throat and tugged her back against his chest.

Arya chuckled softly and reached up to curl her fingers around his wrist to hold him there, while the other slipped between her legs and helped direct him to place. He slid into her easily, squeezing her neck a little tighter as he stifled a moan. She was warm and wet around him, and all too eager to press her hips back and urge him deeper.

Her fingers stayed pressed between her legs, and his stayed tight around her neck, his other hand coming up to cup her breast and tease her nipple. They weren't always like this, rutting eagerly against each other like a couple of animals, but the heat of the afternoon dropped their human disguises and brought the wolf forward in each of them. Even Bran - with his focused stare and intense, dark eyes - licked his lips hungrily and ached to be able to drag his body to them. He could, if he had the time, but for all the heat and fury of their coupling, they never lasted long with each other. Rickon snapped his hips forward, grasping and tugging and biting the soft flesh at the back of his sister's neck and Arya responded to each sharp tingle with a squirm and a moan, fingers rubbing frantic circles and hurdling ever closer to the edge.

Out here in the godswood, none of them cared how much noise they made or who might hear them as they threw themselves together. They were in the wild, where only the gods could judge them for what they did. Arya let loose a harsh cry as her body seized and shuddered, breath catching just below the squeeze of Rickon's fingers. He buried himself as deep as he could, spilling inside her a moment later, not caring what may or may not come of it. He was reckless and willful and she'd never tried to stop him before. He breathed hotly against her neck, slowly loosening his grip to wrap his arms around her middle again.

As they came down, Rickon sat back on his knees again and brought her with him, settling her on his lap. She dropped her head back against his shoulder, her body flushed, her neck bruised, and sweat rolling in fat droplets down the middle of her chest. He was warm and sticky beneath her as well, but she was too content to move. His hands grazed over her skin, wicking sweat down her body and flicking it into the grass as he buried his face in her hair again.

"You want Bran now?" he murmured softly.

Arya smirked and shook her head. "I got him this morning," she said softly, letting her eyes fall closed. "You go play."


End file.
